


Baby, You Get Me Hard(ware, At Your Hardware Store)

by dannyPURO



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hardware Store, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras Doesn't Know When People Are Flirting With Him, First Kiss, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:17:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15812181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyPURO/pseuds/dannyPURO
Summary: Enjolras moved into the apartment above the little hardware store because it was cheap. He did not pick it for the decor. He did not pick it for the noticeable lack of centralized heating and air conditioning. He did not pick it for the loud clattering from downstairs that awakens him every morning at 8:45 sharp. He did not pick it for the lack of specific address that means he, as well the residents of the other two apartments in the building, must go downstairs to fetch his mail every day.“Apollo!”Oh.Enjolras did not pick this apartment for the man who works here Mondays through Thursdays, or his tattoos, or his crooked grin, or the infuriating way he always tries to analyze whatever it is he needs to purchase in the most inaccurate way he can.





	Baby, You Get Me Hard(ware, At Your Hardware Store)

**Author's Note:**

> didn't put any caulk puns in, even though i wanted to. you're welcome.

Enjolras moved into the apartment above the little hardware store because it was cheap. He did not pick it for the decor. He did not pick it for the noticeable lack of centralized heating and air conditioning. He did not pick it for the loud clattering from downstairs that awakens him every morning at 8:45 sharp. He did not pick it for the lack of specific address that means he, as well the residents of the other two apartments in the building, must go downstairs to fetch his mail every day.

“Apollo!”

Oh.

Enjolras did not pick this apartment for the man who works here Mondays through Thursdays, or his tattoos, or his crooked grin, or the infuriating way he always tries to analyze whatever it is he needs to purchase in the most inaccurate way he can.

He sighs. “Hello, Grantaire.”

“Kind of you to grace this mortal shop with your presence today,” he says, in reply, because right, Enjolras did forget his mail here last night. Oops. “May I interest you in some buckets?”

It’s too early for this. “I- What?”

Grantaire gestures broadly at… at the dozens upon dozens of buckets, stacked, crammed into every corner and every free space on the shelves, and then drops his arms with a sigh. “They were on sale at the wholesaler’s, apparently. I’ve been told to sell them with vigor. I fear it may take years,” he whispers, conspiratorial, and he’s not leaning in so close, really, but he’s leaning close enough that Enjolras can see the clear blue of his eyes, and the twinkle, and it makes his heart pound a little faster.

Enjolras laughs a little frantically. “No, I… just the mail, please.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Your loss,” Grantaire says, before disappearing into the the back of the shop.

He returns with the mail, rubber banded together in two separate packets-- one for today and one for yesterday, Enjolras can only assume. He moves to hand them over, then jerks them back when Enjolras makes a reach for them.

Insufferable ass.

Enjolras goes for the letters again, and Grantaire lets him take them this time. Their fingers touch, though, perhaps due to Enjolras’s aggressive grab, and--

Well, the thing is, Enjolras has thought a lot about those hands. They’re a little grimy and calloused and strong as anything, and he shook Enjolras’s hand so firmly when they’d first met, and honestly, it isn’t even Enjolras’s fault that he wants Grantaire to--

Anyways.

He clears his throat, shoves his mail into his pocket. “Thanks, Grantaire,” he says, willing his voice not to crack or do anything embarrassing. He almost succeeds.

Grantaire just shrugs, gestures to himself, then around to the store. “I do nothing but my job.”

Enjolras is fully aware that that isn’t true.

The thing is, he notes, as he walks back up the stairs to his apartment and tries to piece a few more things together, Grantaire does do a little bit more than what his job entails. That is, so long as his job description doesn’t include fixing doorknobs and rewiring lamps after work for Enjolras for nothing but the few teasing comments he makes as he works. So long as his job description doesn’t include that one time Enjolras came home from work early to find Grantaire hard at work repairing the deep scratches that Enjolras had accidentally put in his own front door with his bed frame when he was moving in.

(“Shit,” Grantaire had said, scrambling to his feet, looking guiltily down at the tub of plastic wood that he had been using. “Shit, Enjolras, you’re not supposed to be home until the evening.”

Enjolras had just stared. “What are you doing?”

“I-” He’d sighed. “I thought you might want it fixed. Get that deposit, all that shit. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.”

“Thank you,” was all he’d said, and Grantaire had flushed and grabbed his supplies and gone back down to the shop before Enjolras could even fully process what had happened.

When he got back from work the next day, though, the door was painted over again as if the damage had never even been there. He must have repainted the whole door, Enjolras realizes, and he doesn’t know how Grantaire had managed that with the store open, slow as business may be.)

It’s a Thursday, so he doesn’t see Grantaire again until Monday, when he has to go down to get his mail. Again. And God, he is so tired. He knows, of course, that staying up late drafting speeches is a bad idea when he’s got work in the morning, and god knows he hears it from Combeferre enough, and yet…

And yet here he is, sweatpants-clad, hair falling out of the ponytail he must have put it in last night when he was working, wearing the glasses he normally only wears after he takes his contacts out for the night, clutching his mug of coffee like it’s a lifeline as he shuffles his way down the stairs and into the shop to grab the mail.

He doesn’t even process the fact that he looks like shit until he’s inside and Grantaire is staring at him. Shit. Sure, Grantaire doesn’t exactly dress for the office at work, and more often than not, he’s in nothing but a pair of jean cutoffs and an undershirt in the summer, but he always looks so _nice._ Enjolras, as he himself remarks as he catches a glimpse of himself in a pane of glass, looks like a trainwreck of a human being.

Grantaire is still staring at him.

“I need my mail,” Enjolras reminds him, after a moment, and he almost winces at how rough his voice sounds.

“I-” Grantaire breaks off. “Of course. Sure.” He hurries to the back, comes back with a dutifully rubber-banded pack of envelopes.

Enjolras reaches for them somewhat limply, and Grantaire lets him take them.

“Are you okay, Apollo?” he asks, just as Enjolras is turning to leave. And he sounds… almost sincere, really, and his voice is low and soft like it only really gets when Enjolras is really lucky.

He shrugs. “I’m just… I’m so tired. And I have to go to work. I’ll be okay.”

Grantaire quirks a smile and reaches out, squeezes Enjolras’s shoulder for just a moment, warm and solid. “You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” He almost believes it, too, just from that touch. Christ.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think Grantaire likes me,” Combeferre says, over breakfast. He’d slept over the night before, just because, and in the morning, Enjolras had sent him down to get the mail. “Either that or he’s not as wonderful as you’ve made him out to be.”

Enjolras frowns. “Grantaire’s great,” he says, because Grantaire _is_ great; just the other day he replaced the socket on Enjolras’s desk lamp. For free, no less.

“I nearly had to fight him for your mail. He wouldn’t let me get it, kept spouting some bureaucratic nonsense about the importance of the integrity of the postal system.”

Enjolras frowns deeper. That doesn’t sound like Grantaire at all. Grantaire hates bureaucracy. “Did you get the mail, though?”

Combeferre nods over at the loose stack on the counter. “Had to sort through it myself while he played Words With Friends.”

Again, bizarre. Enjolras has an entire ball of rubber bands from the stacks of mail Grantaire gives him.

Maybe Grantaire really doesn’t like Combeferre.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras scowls down at the light switches and tries to imagine how on earth one would even begin to install one. They haven’t even got instructions on them. They haven’t even got _packaging,_ for Christ’s sake. He can’t even check to see if they’re of a reputable brand.

“Somebody nab your light switch, Apollo, in a tragic burglary?” Grantaire’s voice tugs him out of his thoughts. Ridiculous man.

“Courfeyrac broke the switch part off with a hammer in the middle of a comedic bit.” Admittedly, the truth is just as ridiculous out loud.

Grantaire comes around the counter to stand beside him. “I hope you’re kindly purchasing one for a real electrician so that someone who is qualified and not you can install in.”

Enjolras winces.

“You do realize you can hardly pick out a lightbulb, let alone rewire a light switch?

“I figured it wouldn’t be too hard. I’ll google it, you know?”

Grantaire shakes his head and takes the light switch from his hand. There’s a moment, there, when their fingers brush, and Christ, if Grantaire’s hands aren’t warm as anything. Again, Enjolras has thought about those hands a lot. “Nuh-uh, Apollo. I won’t have you electrocuting yourself. I get off in an hour, anyways, just let me do it for you.”

Enjolras looks up at him. “You’d replace my light switch for me?”

Grantaire looks away, rubs at the back of his neck. “Sure. Anything. If you want.”

Enjolras smiles. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

“Yeah, well, I mean…” He shrugs, and he almost looks like he’s _blushing,_ before he turns away to straighten a display. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire knocks on his door, as promised, at six on the dot. Enjolras scrambles to answer, and when he does, Grantaire is standing there, light switch in hand, an assortment of tools in his pants pockets. He looks good. Really good. And really nervous.

“Hey, Grantaire,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire’s eyes widen before he takes a breath and recovers his typical cool expression. “Hey, Apollo. Wanna show me that lightswitch?”

Enjolras does. It’s the kitchen light, actually, so Enjolras sits at the breakfast bar as Grantaire works. He isn’t sure how long it takes, or what it is exactly that Grantaire does, but that’s okay, because he’s content to watch Grantaire do just about anything. After what must have been a while, Grantaire straightens up and turns around.

“Right,” he says. “That should be it. I’ll turn the power back on and then we’ll see.” So he goes back down to the store, and turns the power back on, and Enjolras laughs when he comes back and flips the light back on triumphantly.

The light switch on the wall is going to feel special for a while, Enjolras figures.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, instead of anything weird. “You’re always so helpful.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well, you know. Anything for you.” He pauses. “And Combeferre, I guess.

Enjolras frowns. “How do you mean?”

“Combeferre… I mean, he benefits from having a working light switch, too, clearly.”

The bizarre interaction between Grantaire and Combeferre is suddenly brought back to mind. “No more than anyone else.”

“What?”

“I mean, sure, he’s over a lot, but no more than Courfeyrac, so I don’t-”

Grantaire has his hands shoved in his pockets, and his brow is furrowed. “I-” He swallows, takes a deep breath. “Sorry, just to clarify, Combeferre is your…”

“My best friend. Courfeyrac’s fiancé.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

He sighs, rubs his forehead. “I’m a dick.”

“What?” Enjolras feels… affronted, almost. Grantaire isn’t a dick. Grantaire is great. “You’re not a dick.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “I was a dick to your best friend because I thought you guys were together and I was jealous and I’m sure he told you and you thought I was a dick or he didn’t because he’s a really nice guy and I was playing Words With Friends out of spite at him because I was being a dick.”

Enjolras has to take a moment to think all that through. He kind of feels like his whole world is shifting in a monumental way. Because Grantaire would only be jealous of Combeferre if _he_ wanted to be dating Enjolras instead, and if he wanted to be dating Enjolras, that means he must like him at least a little, which means Enjolras might have a chance here, and-

“Grantaire, have you been _flirting_ with me?” he says, and he meant to say something more impressive and more helpful to the direction he wants this conversation to move in, but he can’t really think right now, he’s so surprised.

Grantaire lets out a panicked laugh and Enjolras notices suddenly that Grantaire looks really, really nervous. Almost scared. As if Enjolras could even help being so desperately into him, what with his dumb little smirk and his dumb _face_ and his dumb _muscles_ and his dumb _hands_ . “I pretty much only flirt with you. I think I flirt with you more than I _don’t._ I’m kind of ridiculous about this whole thing, ask anyone.”

Enjolras draws in a shaky breath and takes three solid steps across the kitchen. “What whole thing?”

“You don’t know?”

“Tell me.”

“I think I might be falling in love with you really, really fast.”

Enjolras kisses him. It feels like getting everything he’s ever wanted.

Grantaire doesn’t even kiss back, at first; he seems far too overwhelmed. Enjolras doesn’t mind, he just kisses him soft and tender and waits for Grantaire to catch up.

When he does, it’s like Enjolras’s heart has decided to break in every possible wonderful way. He slides a hand into Enjolras’s hair, lets the other clench in his shirt and hold him close, and kisses him so deep and so desperate that Enjolras can hardly breathe. He lets Grantaire back him up against the counter, lets him hike him up and wraps his legs around Grantaire’s hips and holds him in close.

Christ, if he isn’t the best thing Enjolras has every felt. Grantaire is warm and solid and very, very real, and Enjolras can feel his dick growing hard in his jeans up against his leg. Which is fucking superb. Enjolras is getting hard himself, as well, and it’s nice to know they’re on the same page.

Very nice.

He reaches a hand down to rub at Grantaire’s dick, and he gets a nice feel of it, a nice lay of the land, before Grantaire _whimpers,_ and his knees buckle. Enjolras draws his hand away, lays it on Grantaire’s neck, instead, and presses a kiss to his temple. “Okay?”

Grantaire sucks in a breath and ruts up, helplessly, against Enjolras’s crotch. “I don’t even _know,_ Christ, Enjolras, Apollo, I-” He breaks off when Enjolras kisses him, gently, on the corner of his mouth.

“Do you want to take me to bed?” Enjolras asks. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“Door to my right.”

And then Grantaire has tugged him away from the countertop and is carrying him to the bedroom, one hand on his ass, and he pretty much tosses Enjolras down on the bed before he steps back and simply _watches._

Enjolras can take a hint, despite what Combeferre might say. He reaches to his collar, unbuttons his shirt, and strips it off. He can feel Grantaire’s gaze, hot and heavy, on him, can see his cock thicken in his pants. He gets his pants off, too, then stretches out on the bed. “Your turn.”

Grantaire scrambles to oblige. His t-shirt gets tossed to the floor, and then his jeans join it-- he show is postponed for a moment when he has to bend down to tug off his sneakers so he can pull his pants off all the way, but it hardly matters-- and then he’s naked.

They spend a moment just looking each other over; Grantaire is even better than Enjolras could have imagined. He’s tanned and he looks _strong_ and there’s thick, dark hair on his chest, leading down his stomach to his dick, which is large and marvelous, and Enjolras feels so good about the way the day turned out.

“Are you going to come fuck me now?” Enjolras asks, once he’s given Grantaire another moment, because honestly, the man looks stunned in his place and he can’t tear his eyes from Enjolras’s body.

He starts. “You want-”

“Want you to fuck me,” he says again, and Grantaire whines.

“Okay,” he says, and then he’s atop Enjolras, and Enjolras passes him the lube and a condom and then he’s being stretched out, fucking _wrung_ out, by those wonderful fingers.

“I jerk off to your hands,” he admits, breathlessly, in a moment of uncharacteristic unabashedness. (He figures he’s excused, given the circumstances.)

Grantaire crooks his fingers, making Enjolras gasp, and takes a break from sucking at Enjolras’s neck with one final nip. “Yeah? Think about me doing this?”

Enjolras nods, rolling his head against the sheets. “I think about you doing _everything_.”

“Give me some time. I’ll get to it.” He adds another finger, and Enjolras gasps, and moans, and lets Grantaire get him ready before he speaks again.

“I’m-” he chokes out a moan as Grantaire presses at his prostate. “I’m good, you can fuck me now. I’m ready.”

Grantaire buries his face in Enjolras’s neck and breathes deep, instead. “Are you sure?”

Enjolras is pretty sure he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He says as much to Grantaire, and Grantaire whimpers, kisses his collarbone with a strange reverence, and then rolls the condom onto his dick.

“Alright, then.”

And then Grantaire is fucking him. Slowly, at first, as though Grantaire is terrified of hurting him, and then faster and harder and fucking _superb._ Grantaire is everything Enjolras has ever wanted. He is sex embodied. He’s sweaty and so, so attractive, and Enjolras leans up to catch his lips in a kiss.

It’s not a very good kiss, objectively; Enjolras is very, very distracted, and Grantaire is panting and murmuring venerations against his mouth, but it’s perfect. Grantaire fills him up and fills up every empty place in his very being.

And it goes on, and on, and on; Grantaire moving inside him and over him and around him, his own moans vaguely present in his mind, until his eyes snap open from where they had drifted closed. Grantaire is watching him with reverence in his eyes, like he’s looking at a painting long awaited, or some similar masterpiece.

“Grantaire, Grantaire, I-”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna-”

That’s as far as he gets before he’s coming, coming hard and it’s wonderful, and he’s sure he’s making some embarrassing sound, and Grantaire keeps fucking him through it, and it’s the best orgasm of his life.

Grantaire stutters to a halt, but he hasn’t come yet and Enjolras quirks an eye open.

Grantaire is breathing fast against his cheek, pressing kisses there and along his jawline and wherever his mouth falls. “Enjolras, please, please, I’m so close, please, just let me-” his hips kick forward, and it’s shockingly good. “Shit, sorry, I’ll be gentle, I’m so close, please just let me, please, let me-”

Enjolras kisses him. “Go on. Keep going, it feels nice. I want you to come for me.”

And he does. Grantaire fucks into him with a rough, staggered rhythm, his face scrunching up, his muscles clenching. He’s moaning, and grunting, and it’s just about the hottest thing Enjolras has ever experienced. And then he’s coming-- Enjolras can feel it inside of him, through the condom. Grantaire collapses down on top of him and whimpers, and Enjolras runs his hands through Grantaire’s curls.

“So good for me,” he says, and Grantaire sighs contentedly.

They lie like that for a while, until Grantaire pulls out and throws the condom in the trash and goes into the bathroom to wet a washcloth to wipe Enjolras down with.

“Thanks,” Enjolras murmurs, and Grantaire smiles.

“Can I…” he fades off, and bites his lip. “Can I lie with you?”

Enjolras would have nothing less. He pulls the blanket over himself and tugs Grantaire under beside him. Grantaire curls up against his back, presses a kiss to the nape of Enjolras’s neck, and says, voice endlessly soft, “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

They must have fallen asleep that way, because when Enjolras awakes the next morning, it’s to the sight of a note on the other pillow in Grantaire’s beautiful, scratchy handwriting:

 

Enjolras:

Sorry I fell asleep last night.

Had to go down to open the shop,

am working today. I made coffee.

I understand that this might be awkward

for you. I won’t assume to know

how you feel, or assume that you

feel anything for me, which would also be,

of course, completely fine. I would never

pressure you into anything.

Thank you,

R

 

It’s enough to make Enjolras stumble out of bed and fumble around for some sort of clothing, because had he seriously not mentioned, for the entire night, how he felt about Grantaire? Christ, he really is as socially inept as Courfeyrac says. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, brushes his teeth, and basically runs down the stairs and around to the store.

Grantaire is wearing the clothes he wore yesterday and he’s selling some woman picture hanging hooks and he looks so beautiful in the morning light that Enjolras wants to cry. He waits by the door, and when Grantaire notices, his eyes widen and he stops, mid-explanation on the importance of properly sized hooks.

Enjolras motions for him to continue helping his customer, and he does, though his eyes never leave Enjolras.

Once the woman leaves, Enjolras approaches the counter. Grantaire is blushing, and his hands are shoved in his pockets, and he can’t seem to meet Enjolras’s gaze.

“Here to pick up your mail?” he says, ruefully, and Enjolras is suddenly aware of the fact that he looks like a complete mess. Ah, well. Grantaire has already slept with him. He’s already falling in love with him, it’s okay.

“No,” he say firmly, before he concedes. “Well, yes, but no. I’m here to tell you that I’ve been attracted to you ever since I moved in, and what’s more, I like you a lot. Romantically. I’ve thought about it, and I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you, too. I’d like to take you out on a date, ideally.”

Grantaire is staring at him, his mouth just slightly ajar. “You want to date me?”

“Very much. I’ve been very annoying, apparently. Courfeyrac says I never shut up about you.”

“Wow.”

Enjolras smiles. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He steps forward, right up against the counter, and leans in to kiss Grantaire, before he hesitates. “Were you really flirting with me by fixing all of my apartment’s various problems?”

“You needed it, anyways,” Grantaire says, and then they’re kissing, deep and thorough and perfect.

Enjolras figures he can make this apartment situation work, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> don't do your own electrical work, kids, find a professional or study up. always turn off the electricity first.


End file.
